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by Jetpack Monkey
Summary: Angel and Dawn must team up to find a potentially devastating mystical book that was accidentally returned to the Los Angeles Public Library.
1. Prologue

Prologue 

The collection of texts held by Wolfram and Hart's Los Angeles branch dwarfed that of the Los Angeles County Library. It's safe to make this assumption as the Los Angeles County Library was actual a small portion of Wolfram & Hart's overall collection. The system was imperfect, alas. Whenever a book was checked out, it became unavailable to the templates that called up the information.

This quirk wasn't nearly as problematic as it might sound. Most of the truly important texts with the kind of mystical know-how that could turn your brain into a chocolate sundae were held at a different facility. Thus, the only people who ever had any real difficulties were the cheeky Mystical Texts interns who "borrowed" a template to read the new Harry Potter novel early. Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, the head of Mystical Texts, frowned on this practice, but he frowned on most practices not directly related to the rather prosaic task of saving the world.

Wolfram & Hart's most important texts were held in a stronghold located several dozen feet below a parking garage in West Hollywood. There was a single entrance behind one of the stairwells. Which stairwell this was depended on a number of factors, including the position of the stars, certain mystical confluences, and how much money Brad Pitt's last movie took in. Currently, the doorway was behind the southeast stair, so Mr. Pitt was obviously enjoying a very good year.

It was a rare occurence that a book was actually removed from this secure location. For one thing, the convenience of templates meant that the text itself (usually the important bit of the book) could be called up without ever handling the book itself. They could call up any work in the collection, cross-indexed to a degree that would make a reference librarian wet herself.

Additionally, the stronghold was heavily warded and booby-trapped. One false move and an intruder could be turned into a substance resembling grape jam. Indeed, only two people could successfully pass all the hazards. Wyndam-Pryce was one of them -- being the head of the department, it was a no-brainer.

The other person with access to the books was Jasper Holliday, a nebbish who insisted that he qualified as a full librarian despite having only modest training. As a teenager, he had reshelved books at a local library for very little money, and once he'd helped someone locate a copy of The Runaway Summer of Davie Shaw by Mario Puzo. Holliday's official title was Reference Custodian, but he told his friends down at the Boar's Head Bar & Grill that he was an Information Services Specialist. They didn't particularly care one way or the other.

If a book's physical form had some mystical property that was necessary for whatever do-gooder mission Wolfram & Hart was on at the moment, it was Jasper's duty to fetch the text and deliver it to the office. He did so in a well-used blue '98 Neon, which got great gas mileage but was rather useless for traversing the necessary distance in anything resembling haste (and especially not around lunchtime). Twice a company car had been given to Jasper to decrease waiting times, and twice a company car had been returned in twisted bits of metal and plastic.

It was rumored that Jasper's long-term exposure to a great number of conflicting magickal tomes had left him with a variety of unfortunate curses, such as the inability to drive anything but a well-used blue '98 Neon.

Not knowing what other peculiarities had befallen Jasper, employees took special care to avoid him in his rare visits to the offices. Jasper often mistook the fearful dash to the other side of the lobby as awed respect for his position.

At the moment, a PR coordinator was leaping headfirst into an empty office, crashing into a row of office chairs that had been shoved there as an imperfect storage solution. Jasper observed this action with a small smile and thanked whatever hellgods he needed to that information services were still treated with reverence.

Jasper's gait was really more of a slow lunge, his reddish brown hair leading the rest of him. His eyes strained to register everything ahead (usually lawyers moving out of his way with the grace of boulders) and occassionally fell to watch his Converse All-Stars pad across the floor. Tucked under his arm was a book that gleamed with decrepit age.

He reached the double doors that lead to Angel's office and knocked firmly. This was his first time delivering to the head honcho himself, and his smile became wider at the prospect of meeting the man.

"What is it?" an annoyed voice asked.

"Jasper Holliday, Information Services Specialist!" He straightened up and attempted to look proud.

"The research custodian," Wesley Wyndam-Pryce noted on the other side of the door. "Do come in, Jasper."

Jasper flung the doors open and marched into the room with the bravado of a private trying on the general's medals. He made eye contact with the glowering vampire sitting at the desk. "Sir, it's an absolute pleasure to--"

A tall black man in a pinstripe suit crossed his arms. "Hold up a sec, I was sayin' something before you knocked." The man turned back to Angel. "All I'm sayin' is, I don't know if the Lazarus Codex is gonna be enough. I say we hit 'em with a cease and desist, muck 'em up in the courts for a while. That should give us enough time to shut down their apocalypse."

"Can you do that in just two hours, Gunn?" Angel asked. "Because the Khariki Clan complete the ritual to raise the Prime Avatar at sundown. Besides, we have the book now."

"Indeed," Wesley said, taking the book from Jasper. "The seal on the cover should... Where's the seal on the cover?"

Jasper shook his head. "I don't know, sir. I don't think there was one."

Wesley flipped through the book and frowned. "This isn't the Lazarus Codex. It's the Lazarey Codex."

"Uh, oops." Jasper swallowed hard.

Angel stood and stomped over to look at the book. "Is this going to be any help at all?"

"No, it mostly pertains to demonic plagues. I don't believe I've had to call it up once since we've arrived." Wesley sighed.

"Do you have any idea what you've done?" Angel's jaw went so tight, Jasper was afraid his cheeks would collapse.

"Don't suppose there's anyway he can go back, get the right codex, and get it to us by the deadline?" Gunn asked.

"Not a chance. He has a peculiar relationship with cars," Wesley said, glaring at Jasper. "I'll take a helicopter, bypass traffic."

Jasper, for his part, felt deeply uncomfortable. "Sir, it was an honest mistake."

"There have been quite a few honest mistakes of late, Mr. Holliday. Bringing the wrong book is the least of them. When you misfiled the Ni'Quan Prophecies, it took four hours to clear out the Grixnar infestation."

"That was his fault?" Angel asked, pointing. "They completely shredded the lobby."

"Mr. Holliday, I'm going to have let you go. This is the last bungle I'm willing to tolerate."

"But sir..."

"Payroll will mail you your last check. Good day."

Jasper fought back tears as he darted to the elevator. He hit the button and waited, hardly able to control his sobs. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Wesley hand the book to Harmony, giving her explicit instructions on how to access the underground stronghold in West Hollywood. Harmony nodded a bunch of times and assured Wesley that she had it "totally in hand."

Jasper watched her vacant eyes regard the book with slight disgust. A bitter smile stretched across his lips. Never trust a receptionist to do an Information Services Specialist's job.


	2. Where Heroes End Up

Dawn Summers was busy not enjoying the Muzak version of Copacabana filtering through the elevator. She sized up the speakers and developed a plan of attack that would require a cricket bat and an arc saw. The elevator dinged open, though, robbing her of the chance to carry out her property destruction fantasies. 

She adjusted her blue backpack so it sat more comfortably on her shoulders and strode toward the set of double doors that said very boldly that the man behind said doors was compensating for something. She figured it was the best place to look for who she was looking for.

Out of the corner of her eye, a familiar face sat behind a reception desk. "Dawn? Dawn Summers?" the familiar voice that went with the familiar face asked.

Dawn turned. Harmony gazed at her vapidly. "Hey, Dawn! Ohmygod, you've grown!"

"Yeah, thanks. And you're working for Angel."

"I know, weird, huh? So, um, what can we at Wolfram & Hart do for you?"

"I'm here to see Angel."

"Ooh, sorry. Can't do. He's in this totally weird place right now. Like, he was just mean before, but now he's like gr. Been like that since he got back from Europe. Said he didn't want any distractions today."

"I'm not a distraction. I'm here on business." Dawn walked to the double doors. "Can't say it was nice seeing you." She casually opened the door and slipped through.

Angel sat at his desk, intent on some paperwork. He barely glanced upwards. "Dawn. What are you doing here?"

Dawn snorted. "Please. Andrew babbled about your whole visit. It was really dumb of him to leave you in the apartment alone, but he's been kinda weird lately. Like, he actually had a date. With girls." She sauntered over to a chair and sat down.

"So, you're here to chastize us?"

"Us? Andrew said it was just you."

Angel's eyebrows went up. "He did? Um, good for him. Telling the truth. But I had my flunkie waiting in the car downstairs. I don't think Andrew saw him." He signed a contract and shoved the whole load of papers to the side. "As you can see, I'm a busy man, so..."

"If I was just here for the 'don't do that' speech, which you're still getting by the way, I would've just called. I'm here on Council business."

"Business? Don't get me wrong, I'm sure you're mature for your age, but..."

"I'm 17, Angel. Older than Buffy was when you two started getting serious."

"You're not the Slayer."

"I don't have to be a Slayer to do this. I have an order for the extradition of Rutherford Sirk."

Angel crossed his arms. "That's going to be a little tough."

"Why?"

"Don't know where he is. Disappeared after sending me and -- after sending me on a wild Dew hunt. Might want to talk to Lindsey McDonald since he orchestrated the whole thing."

Dawn stood and gave the office a good looking-over. "So this is where heroes end up?" She smiled at him. "Not bad. We could use this kind of snazz at the new Council. But I don't think we'd get the Evil Law Firm discount."

"We're not evil."

"That's not what I hear."

Angel glowered. "If you're done..."

"I'm not. Sirk took a bunch of books with him when he vamoosed. You have 'em."

"And you want them back."

"I have a list."

Angel leaned back in his chair and toyed with his pen. "Dawn, I'm not sure how much you know about our dealings with the Council, but we've been pretty screwed over every damn time." He tossed the pen on the desk. "You'll excuse me if I think that a few books are reasonable compensation."

"Angel, that's not fair."

Angel furrowed his brow. "Not fair. Do you have any idea what's going on out there? Apocalypse. Second by second, they're winning. I've lost too many of my people to really care about what's fair anymore."

"Just one book, then. For Buffy."

Angel crossed his arms. "For Buffy or The Immortal?"

"That's cold."

"So's life."

"Yeah, like you're not. There are people dying right now, and you want to worry about petty past grievances."

"Fine. What book?"

"The Lazarey Codex."

A look of annoyance crossed Angel's face. "Oh great."

* * *

Dawn didn't take a large sip from her organic cola. She did, however, continue to gape a bit at Angel. "So you fire this custodian guy, and Harmony accidentally returns it to the Los Angeles County Library?" 

"We didn't notice until just last week. There haven't been a lot of demon parasite infections lately."

"Well, there's one in a small town in Sicily, and if I don't get that book back to Buffy and The Immortal, lots of people are going to die. The only known cure is in that book. Why can't we just, y'know, get it?"

Angel frowned. "It's been checked out. Actually, it's overdue."

"So, who has it?"

"Couldn't tell you. Patron privacy policies."

Dawn shook her head. "That doesn't make sense. You run a branch of the most powerful evil law firm in the world, and you can't pull up a simple patron record?"

"Have you met those librarians? They're vicious. Besides, we have a good working relationship with them. We can't just barge in and demand their records."

"Willow could have the system hacked in five minutes."

"Willow's not here." Angel stood and walked to the door. "We have more pressing matters here than your missing book. Find a workaround. Buffy's clever like that. I have a business to keep running." He pulled open the door and held it. "Tell Buffy I said 'hi.'"

Dawn shook her head. "You really have gone over. I wanted to see for myself. Guess I shouldn't have bothered."

_To Be Continued..._


	3. Patron Records Confidential

The reference desk at the Los Angeles County Library (Main Branch) tried very hard not to be intimidating. Gone were the sharp Gothic accents of long ago, as was the iron maiden that had once leaned casually against the black marble desktop. Instead, there sat a simple wooden desk papered with laminated posters featuring 90s television stars who encouraged the youth of America to read (so they could enjoy their TV Guides with minimal fuss). 

Dawn approached timidly. Giles had dealt with these people once in his tenure as Buffy's Watcher, and it had not been a pleasant experience. He called in sick to the Magic Box the next day, citing stress.

Behind the desk a pleasant-looking woman with curly black hair scanned a computer screen, a phone jammed between her shoulder and ear. She spoke with the calm of somebody incapable of throttling their conversation partner. "Sir, I ran that search. I'm sorry that the results aren't... Sir, I tried that. Perhaps if we tried a different tact..." She gritted her teeth. "I'm not saying you don't know what you're talking about. I'm saying that more specific information would be helpful. No, sir, I can't just 'figure it out.' Well, same to you. Have a nice day." She dropped the phone into its cradle. "Idiot," she muttered. She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose and smiled tightly at Dawn. "How can I help you today?"

Dawn chewed her lip. "Um... I need to find something."

The librarian nodded. "Great. I can help. Were you thinking fiction or non-fiction?"

"Patron records, actually."

"Ah." The librarian frowned. "Sorry, can't do that."

"I just need to know--"

The librarian put up her hand. "You need to find out what your boyfriend's reading so you can surprise him with a present. Or you're looking to one-up the competition at the science fair. I get this all the time. The answer is still no."

Dawn pulled out her wallet and flipped it open. She layed a card out on the desk. The librarian picked it up. "Watcher's Council. Interesting. I might be able to help you, but it won't be easy..."

* * *

"Spike ignores me in favor of something he calls 'Halo.' He has not left his domicile in two days."

"Not my problem, Illyria," Angel said, striding across the Wolfram & Hart lobby. "Go bother Wesley."

"He avoids me and will not even glance in my direction. My efforts to arouse him have grown tiresome to me." She paused. "I wish to spar with The Key."

Angel stopped. "What do you know about The Key?"

"I saw it leave your office in a body of flesh." She cocked her head. "I cannot comprehend why anything so powerful should allow itself to be so limited."

"Pot, we have the kettle on line two."

"I do not understand your simple-minded figures of speech and I do not wish to."

Angel sighed. "You can't spar with The Key. For one thing, she's powerless. She's just a human girl."

"Yet you let her go on a quest you know may be fraught with danger."

"It's book retrieval. It's a milk run."

"You lie to even yourself, half-breed. Your denials of your own character make you weak."

"If she's smart, she'll just head home."

Illyria stared at Angel as if she could not believe there was a creature quite this dense in existence. "Logic is not something that mortals value."

Angel put his hands on his hips. "Why does this even bother you?"

"It does not. I find it curious that it does not bother you. I sense your concern for the girl, but you take no action. This is uncommon for you and I wish to know why."

"The situation's more complicated than that. It's just a book. I mean, okay, she could be in trouble, and sure, it would improve my standing with Buffy if I helped her, and yeah, it'd make Spike look like a lazy ass..." Angel blinked. "You didn't tell Spike about The Key, did you?"

"I saw no need."

"Good," Angel said.

* * *

Dawn and the librarian (Susan, Dawn learned) stood in front of a large poster listing novel that had been banned or censored in the last hundred years. Susan glanced at Dawn. "Sure you wanna do this, kiddo?" Dawn nodded. 

Susan tapped "Catcher in the Rye." It lit up. She hit "The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, "Lolita," and "Lord of the Flies." They all glowed dimly. Finally, she rubbed her thumb over "Catch-22," and the poster dissolved in a swirl of letters, revealing a doorway. Beyond that ran a set of stairs exactly like you'd expect a library to have if said library was built inside a medieval castle.

Dawn put a foot through where the poster had been and looked back at Susan. The librarian shook her head and said, "Sorry. I'm not even supposed to have let you go this far. It's your deal from here on out." Dawn nodded and put the other pfoot through. The library faded behind her. She was alone.

The stairway didn't appear to be supported by anything stronger than the idea that it should be standing rather than not. Above her was total blackness. On either side was total blackness. Underneath, as Dawn discovered in an ill-advised upside-down peek, was total blackness. The steps themselves were illuminated by some invisible source. In short, it was just your average extra-dimensional staircase jutting out from infinity.

Dawn tread down the steps, caution in every movement. She breathed slowly, sure that her next step would mean her ultimate demise or a badly sprained ankle. Each individual stair seemed solid enough, but the overall lack of physics governing the set as a whole was enough to give her pause.

Peering out into the darkness, she could just barely make out the bottom of the steps about 50 yards ahead. She took a deep breath and skipped down rapidly, jumping the last four steps and landing on the dusty stone floor of Patron Records.

Dim lamps hung from impossibly long cords that tapered off into the darkness above. Dawn counted 27 rows of card catalogs. The catalog furthest to left bore the legend "Books," while the other 26 read "Patrons." Toiling at these catalogs were dozens of pathetic, slouching creatures.

"Patron records confidential," a tired voice came from the vicinity of her knee. The creature she found was like the others - skin sort of hanging off the suggestion of a skeleton, lidless eyes, and a small Oxford shirt with no pants. It shuffled away. Dawn followed it to a squat table where it started scrawling on a 3" by 5" index card, one of at least a couple hundred sitting there.

Dawn picked a card up. The title read "The Fearmakers by John McCarty" and there, handwritten impeccably, was a list of patrons who had checked it out, when they did so, and when they brought the book back. The list only went to 2002, so Dawn flipped the card over to find the listings for 2003. She flipped it over again and blinked. The front had changed to a list of patrons who had checked out the book in 2004. Flip. 2005. Flip. The original front of the card. "Weird," Dawn said to herself.

"Patron records confidential," the slouching creature said again.

Dawn gave the thing a funny look and wandered over to the first row of card catalogs. She pulled open a drawer and found hundreds of cards, each bearing the title and author of a book. The first card was "Aardvarks: An Owner's Guide by E.G. Nesmith."

Each catalog in this row bore a large letter on its side. Dawn found the L index and pulled open the drawer labled "Las-Leb." Towards the back, she found it - "Lazarey Codex, The by Author Unknown." There was a single patron listed, a Simon Maday.

Shutting the drawer, Dawn glanced over at the other rows. Each row corresponded to a different letter. She wandered over. As she passed the F's, she nearly tripped over another slouching creature. "Patron records..."

"...confidential. I get it." Dawn trekked over to the M's. There was an entire index devoted to the Mad's. She started opening drawers and rifling through. "Madacy... Madame... Madas... Maday! Simon Maday." The card had Maday's birthdate, current address, and telephone number. "Excellent," Dawn said to herself. She ripped the card from the drawer and pocketed it. She turned back towards the staircase.

The scuffling of the creatures had stopped. They all stared at her. "Patron records confidential," one of them said. Another one behind her offered the same admonishment. "Patron records confidential." They circled around her, drawing in tighter with every moment. "Patron records confidential," they began to chant in unison. They bared razor sharp teeth. "Patron records confidential." Dawn reached into her bookbag and pulled out a dagger that Buffy had given her. She held the blade out, ready to strike if necessary. The creatures continued to close in. "Patron records confidential."

They stopped within a yard of her. She backed up, bumping into the "Mad-" index, sending it toppling to the floor. She swallowed hard. "Sorry?"

A creature sprang at her, all the previously observed lethargy completely washed away. It attached its mouth to her weapon arm, causing her to drop the dagger. The rest bounded towards her, teeth shining a white as their Oxford shirts.

Dawn screamed and there was no echo.


End file.
